


A Prayer For the Preacher's Daughter

by NightBearrors



Category: Adventure Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-27 16:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightBearrors/pseuds/NightBearrors
Summary: New beginnings aren't always easy.Everybody has secrets.A story not told in order.





	1. Chapter 1

Cicada songs hummed through the trees, languid and droning. The heat was bearable if she stayed secluded under the shade and when that perfect breeze swept through the grasses, well, it was heaven. She was used to cooler seasons, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss them, but the change of scenery helped.

Her book pages fluttered at the gust and with it came the preacher's daughter, all long legged and tanned, hair tresses of night sky on the wind. It was a look free and wild, all teeth. Felicity. So different from when she was on that stage, soft praises sung around pleasant smiles, hair tied in a tight bun and body covered in choral uniform.

"Hey," came the greeting, fists crammed in to jean pockets.

"Hey," was her response, pages closing over bookmark. Her pulse hiccuped, fingers tightening around her literature's binding. That voice was much more dazzling away from hymns and sermons.

"Can I sit?" She nodded, not trusting her voice to be steady quite yet.

"I been seein' you around some services; name's Marceline." A hand is offered as the seat beside her is taken and so she shakes it with a smile, book held like a cross to her chest.

"Call me Marce," and the smile is so sweet she knows she will end up drowning in it, sinking down to rot at the bottom.

"I'm Bonnibel. People call me Bonnie."

"You new here, Bonnie?" Her name rolls off Marceline's tongue like honey, sticky and sweet. "I never seen you around before." Hands slide down worn jeans, a tick Bonnibel would later learn was a nervous habit born of sweating palms.

"I just transferred." A nod in acknowledgement paired with a knowing grin,

"Thought so."


	2. Oh, Holy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first for everything.

The first time Bonnibel showed Marcy her room, they spent it flipping through old yearbooks and photographs, filling in the blanks of a past without each other. The second time Bonnibel showed Marcy her room, it was after a night of prepping Pastor Abadeer's church for the coming holiday season. Marcy's hands were cold and shoulders tense, body radiating agitation as soon as the door closed behind them. It was like a light switch sometimes with Marceline; one moment she would be all smiles and charm, lending a tender shoulder to cry on for numerous faces of her father's congregation, the next she was all bristles and thorns, isolating herself behind locked doors and shut blinds.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Bonnie offered, worry creasing her brow as she threw her coat over the door's hook. She was beginning to suspect she was one of few privy to Marceline's low moods.

"Nah," came the response, low and breathy. When Marceline moved to shed her scarf, Bonnibel reached out to touch her arm, fingertips melting the sparse snowflakes still clinging to coat sleeve.

"Do you want anything at all?" she pressed with a small smile, to which Marcy looked at her, really looked at her, before her hand abandonded the scarf in favor of Bonnie's arm. Fingertips lightly swept over long cotton sleeve before Marcy gently palmed her wrist.

"Nothing you can give." It was said softly, eyes adverted, thumb tracing a slow line down Bonnibel's wrist under sleeve and ah, Marceline's dramatic flare again, thought Bonnie, the touch gentle, cold, and electric. Bonnibel had been careful, mindful, about physical contact with Marceline; her skin buzzed with want at any hint of contact, craving the intimacy, and Marceline herself seemed to shy away from any contact at all.

"Try me" Bonnibel whispered, hyperaware of Marceline's proximity, of how that thumb stuttered to a stop at the words, the visible clench of her jaw and swallow, and she leaned in, just a little.

Their eyes met and Bonnibel could see the thousand thoughts racing through those turquoise eyes, but before she could press or process, Marcy's hand tightened around her. Their mouths crashed together and it was like the first storm after a drought; a boom of thunder through her bones as she was smashed against the door. The hinges rattled; they broke apart, breaths uneven, stilted in the quiet house. Marceline swayed forward, hesitant, but lips parted, eyes half-lided, and Bonnie moved to meet her, half a year's desire boiling over as their teeth bumped together. She grabed at Marceline's coat and it was thrown haphazardly aside, quickly followed by scarf and both their shirts, mouths meeting hungrily between, any hint of uncertainty washed away.

There was a focused, fumbling moment before Marceline managed to unhook her bra, and then she was at her throat, teeth nipping in impatience. Bonnie had to nudge her back to get the straps off her shoulders, but Marceline's hands continued mapping her sides, not missing a beat while her eyes actively took in the sight of Bonnibel's bare skin. As she kissed her, Marceline's hands, roaming as they were, aggrivatingly did not venture over her breasts and Bonnibel thought then she better understood Marceline's active aversion to her physical contact in the previous months of their friendship;

"You can touch all you want." 

A low, choked noise rose in Marceline's throat and with a whine seeping from her lungs, Bonnibel let Marceline press kisses down her neck, leading an eventual trail to pull a nipple into her mouth. She tugged at Marceline's bra; it was one of those sporty ones without the hooks, but Marceline paid it no mind and made no move to pull it off, instead roughly kneading Bonnibel's breast that wasn't in her mouth and God, she feels good was all she could think, tight heat coiling in her gut.

With a quiet smack, Marceline released her mouth's hold and pressed herself closer, hands grasping desperately at Bonnie's sides and breasts, breath coming out in a shaky huff as she pressed their foreheads together.

Bonnie took a moment to breathe, but she was burning and needed-

Marceline took hold of her wrists and slamed them up against the door on either side of Bonnie's head, turquoise eyes blown wide and dark-

needed-

A thigh pressed between her own and-

"Fuck me" she hissed, hands balling into fists, back arching.

There was a pause, a breath out, a shaky breath in, and then Marceline pulled her into a sloppy kiss, hands moving to steady her waist, knee grinding.

Marceline's hands worked impatiently to unbotton her jeans, mouth sucking on Bonnie's jaw, then nipples, and then finally Marceline yanked the denim down mid-thigh and cupped a palm over damp snowflake underwear.

"Have-" you ever done this, Bonnie wanted to ask; there was still a lot she didn't know about Marceline, but with calloused fingers pressing aside her underwear and gliding over her clit, she decided there were more inmportant things to worry about in the moment so instead lost herself in another kiss, in the sound of their combined, heavy gasps, and folded her arms around Marceline's shoulders like a mantle.

Her hips lurched, Marceline's hand firm and confident, before fingers pressed in and curled.

That was when her nails scrambled for purchase and a course moan ripped from her throat. There was a pause, Marceline's eyes refocusing on her face as slowly she pressed those two fingers just right, sliding with ease against her heat. Bonniebel's breath came out in a shutter, eyes fluttering at the slow, deliberate movement. Yes, Marceline had definitely done this before.

After a few agrivatingly leisure push and pulls of her fingers, Bonnibel was on her toes, the wood thumping against the doorframe in time with Marceline's full body thrusts. Her hands found purchase in Marceline's hair as she pressed into the crook of her neck, gasps quick and quiet against her skin. She knew she couldn't come like this, but just the feeling of Marceline against her, in her, had her body screaming finally, finally, finally.

A hand untangled from Marceline's hair to half-heartedly pull at her own jeans. They were still very much in the way, and Marcy was quick on the uptake; she pulled away a moment to wordlessly yank at the material, kneeling in the process. Her own wetness was smeared along her thigh as Marceline's hands traced down smooth legs to help Bonnie step out of the pants and then those eyes were looking up at her and thumbs were hooked under her panties. But she didn't pull them down, just swallowed, gaze unflinching, and asked a blushing Bonnibel:

"Can I?" Bonnibel's heart thumped in her throat; she knew what she was asking. Gentle hands brushed over Marceline's and she breathed quietly with a small nod, 

"I trust you."

An expression Bonnie couldn't quite read flashed across Marceline's face before she tugged down her underwear and left them discarded on the floor. Palms brushed up bare thighs and gentle kisses were placed in reverence before Marcline cupped her ass, moved her face closer to her soft, curled tufts of hair.

Bonnie tangled her fingers in dark hair and pulled.


	3. Snapshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jezebel and the dog(s)

"You're the one good thing in this damn town, Bonnie." It was said with an air of nonchalance, but those turquoise eyes were burning holes right through her as she tugged her jeans back on.

"That right?" she replied, noncommittal. Marceline had a way of approaching heavy things that Bonnibelle hadn't quite figured out yet, but when she looked back to her lover, those eyes had drifted to her nakedness, Marceline lounging lazily on the bed, own skin exposed without care.

"That's right," but Marce's tone was distracted and her hands moved, ever the wandering ghosts over Bonnie's skin.

She took Marce's face in her hands,

"And what does that make you?" A languid grin; whispered words in reply:

"Just one of the dogs."


	4. Transposition

The particular sermon that week was...interesting.

"'She painted her eyes with kohl and dressed her hair, and she looked out of the window...'" Pastor Abadeer's voice was booming; he seemed to occupy every corner. 

"'They threw her down; and her blood spattered on the wall and on the horses, and they trampled her.'"

Marceline had gone a shade paler, sitting silently in the choir. She didn't meet her gaze.

His eyes found Bonnibel at the far end of the sanctuary.

'The dogs shall devour the flesh of Jezebel in the field of Jezreel'

 

She looked away.

The room was suddenly far too small.


End file.
